


bad communication

by LonesomeDreamer



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: LonelyEyes, M/M, anyways have a fic, elias and peter have another divorce hahaha, why do i write these things so late at night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:13:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23870707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonesomeDreamer/pseuds/LonesomeDreamer
Summary: elias and peter have called it off again, and elias is thrilled to have won this round—but perhaps he isn't as happy as he convinces himself he is.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Peter Lukas/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 57





	bad communication

**Author's Note:**

> I was feeling inspired after observing TMA twitter. A nearly-empty document was sitting open on my computer with this title, and I pulled some old + new ideas together and ended up with this!

_That’s it. I’m done. Finished. Utterly finished!_

Elias was fuming even as he pulled out his phone and rang his divorce lawyer, fingers shaking as he stabbed out the number. It took two rings for the call to be picked up on the other end of the line; it took even less from Elias to get his point across to the barrister, who had been handling his paperwork for admittedly quite a long time.

“It’s Bouchard. Get—”

“Yes, sir, I’ll have the papers sent over right away,” the attorney sighed tiredly, before hanging up the phone with a click. Elias let the device tumble from his fingers to the top of his desk without so much as a look down; it came to rest atop the mahogany amidst several file folders and a cup of tea long gone cold.

_He has nerve, he has, thinking he can attempt to embarrass me like that and get away with that!_

Even in his own thoughts, he was loath to admit to being humiliated—but it was impossible for him to ignore the cold gnawing at his chest from the inside out. As much as he wanted to chalk it up to a draft in the room, or a fault in the heating of his own home— _home, it hurts to call this a home in this mess of emptiness_ —, he knew the truth better than he cared to admit. Things were quiet and empty, something he found himself bitterly acknowledging as different than what he wanted.

_How is this not what I wanted? I’ve gotten what I want!_

Elias picked up the cup of tea from its saucer, lifting the silver spoon and delicately lowering it into the cold drink. After a moment or two of stirring, he had a sip; almost immediately, he grimaced and set the cup down again.

“It’ll be in the bin with that,” he muttered, running the tip of his tongue over his lips and trying to ignore how comfortable he had grown with the cold— _Peter runs cold, his skin is always so frigid against my own_ —and the memories that accompanied the sensation.

“Shame to waste perfectly good tea. Oh well.”

He rose to his feet and crossed the room in four short strides, reaching for the door and shutting it with no small amount of force before returning to his desk and opening up a file folder. It took very little time for Elias to busy himself once more; consequently, when three sharp knocks rapped upon his office door he was nearly startled out of his seat—only nearly, thanks to the fortunate foresight of the Beholding.

“Do come in,” he drawled, setting down his file folder. “You’ve made excellent time.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Bouchard, just sign the papers,” his lawyer muttered sourly, setting the papers upon Elias’s desk and waiting expectantly.

Elias picked up his pen, dipped it in jet black ink with a bit of a flourish, and signed his name on the line. Each letter flowed together in smooth, practiced cursive; the very spacing of the letters in the space suggested that he’d had plenty of prior experience in signing those documents.

“Very well, I’ve graced your paperwork with my name. Now send it off,” he muttered, turning back to his files as he pushed the papers back across the desk. The attorney quickly picked them up and hurried off, unwilling to aggravate Elias if the situation did not call for it.

Elias didn’t so much as blink as his office door closed once more.

_He deserves it, for what he tried to do to me. I’ve got my revenge._

~XXXXX~

It was rare for Elias Bouchard to admit to regretting doing something—he prided himself on the very opposite, as a matter of fact, and it was practically a matter of principle for him to never decry one of his own actions as wrong. There was a great deal of his own personal pride wrapped up in the matter, and his pride was certainly something he valued.

But, perhaps just this once, all that was for naught.

He’d taken to pacing his office, anxious footfalls on the ground breaking up the quiet that surrounded him. His own heartbeat had drifted somewhere up into his ears, thudding away with a constant ostinato that seemed to only serve to mock him in his every waking moment. When he wasn’t working, or pacing, or even so much as talking into the empty air, the silence was crushing; it deafened the very color of his surroundings, drawing him deeper into the abyss of his own damned feelings that had become far too lonely for his own tastes.

To fold first was more than an embarrassment—it was an outrage, a scandal, a black mark on his own treasured pride—, but as the days dragged on without Peter no twisted happiness blossomed within his heart. Usually, he would have been pleased—thrilled, even—to have had the last say in one of their spats, but there was some strange temporal sensation plaguing him that was far from the typical smug joy he felt in the aftermath of a divorce.

Elias knew, heart sinking in his chest, that he’d made a mistake. He Knew, and he knew that he’d erred.

Despite dwelling in this realm of recognition, however, he had made no attempt to reverse his choice. To do so would be an outright admission of his error, and as painful as self-realization was an outward acknowledgment would be far worse. He’d settled on waiting for Peter to call.

But Peter didn’t call.

Time dragged on, and the phone remained silent. No calls, no messages, nothing.

Peter didn’t call, and Elias felt the loneliness brooding in his heart smile coquettishly and bask in the glory of it all.

And still, Peter did not call.

Peter did not have to call, in the end, for in a fit of self-pity Elias snatched up his phone and dialed the number sitting at the front of his mind—Peter’s, of course. The call completed barely one ring before the line connected; no words were spoken, but he could hear the gentle lull of waves and knew he’d reached the man he’d wanted to phone.

“...Peter?”

~XXXXX~

The room was silent, the lights darkened. Not even the animals stirred outside amidst the gloom of the wee hours of the morning, as it was far too early for anyone to be up. The bed was soft and cozy in the midst of this quiet night, a little island haven in the oceanic expanse of darkness.

“All in a fit of imprudence...”

Peter blinked owlishly, opening his eyes to the darkness and taking a moment to let himself adjust to the pitch of the night. The captain shifted slightly before he sat up fully in bed and stared at his husband, confusion written all over his face.

“‘m sorry, what?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

Elias’s words were barely a whisper; the Brit was sitting up and staring straight forward across the room, curls partially obscuring his eyes. It was half past three in the morning, and although he did experience the occasional bit of trouble with getting to sleep this was not one of those events. Rather, the weight of his own thoughts had finally gotten to him after god knows how long he’d tried to ignore them—or perhaps it wasn’t thoughts, but feelings.

“...Elias, I may not be aligned with the Eye, but I’m not stupid. Tell me what you said,” the captain sighed, his tone that of one long-suffering.

“It’s nothing, Peter,” Elias replied coldly, although his voice seemed distant. “Nothing—nothing for you to bother yourself over.”

“...I see.”

Elias had turned his head away after he’d spoken; if he’d been willing to acknowledge it, he might have admitted he felt half-ashamed at the coldness in his own voice. He was halfway to opening his mouth and elaborating on something to the same effect when a pair of arms wrapped around his midriff.

“Peter, what—”

“I see, Elias,” Peter cut him off softly, and for once Elias didn’t respond as the captain pulled him closer. He realized with a sudden startling clarity that, there in Peter’s arms, he felt quite warm.

_He’s so warm…_

Before he could even fully recognize what was happening, let alone try to avoid it, tears had begun to pool in his eyes. They ran down his cheeks, hot and sticky; he buried his face in his husband’s chest, finally ceasing the disguising of his embarrassment as blood rose to his cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Peter said quietly.

“I hardly think it is, Peter,” Elias muttered bitterly, before lapsing into silence. He was too tired and too overwhelmed by his own mental goings-on to say much else.

“...well, I say otherwise, Elias Bouchard,” Peter replied softly, and the name fell from his lips delicately sugared with a fondness that eased the lonely ache in Elias’s chest. The captain tightened his arms around the smaller man and pressed a kiss atop the curls. “I do say otherwise, and you should listen to me.”

“Perhaps I will, this once,” Elias mused, feigning actual consideration, but he had neither refused the closeness nor rejected the kiss. He let his eyes close as he set his head against the captain’s shoulder. “Perhaps, Peter.”

It was in this manner that Elias finally fell asleep, and Peter dared not move to disturb the man even as sleep descended upon his own head. When dawn broke, the two were still in each other’s arms.


End file.
